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di's Insite
Cutting That Man Out of My Hair
When I met Ron, my hair was long and brown. Like most men, he loved long
hair so I kept it that way for him. I liked it long too because it could
be up on my head for a more serious look and out of my eyes when leaning
over a student to help with schoolwork. For a period of time, I had silver
hair, showing up when I was a teenager. When my son was getting married,
he and his sister insisted I color my hair for the wedding pictures. They
argued I would be the only silver head in the pictures and besides, they
agreed I would look younger. So I visited a beautician before the wedding
and had my hair colored dark brown.
I showed Ron some younger day pictures of me in my silver hair. He didn't
mind the silver he said, but he really hated the pictures of me in short
hair. Cutting my hair then seemed disloyal since he had met me with long
shoulder length hair.
After his funeral, I cut my hair to chin length because I just didn't have
the energy to fix it anymore. I begin to hate coloring it, not having the
inclination to fix my hair, much less spend the tedious time of coloring
roots. Gray/silver hair became more attractive to me as I looked at other
women standing in check out lines. I studied the mirror, wondering if
changing my hair back would affect my demeanor? Would I think of myself as
old? I had prided myself on my younger outlook, never letting my age hold
me back on trying new experiences. Now, I was tired and the grieving had
taken its toil. Looking like a "widow" seemed to point to some older woman
look till I read of much younger widows' stories of similar pain.
This fall, I met Ed, a man with salt and pepper colored short hair, who
truly means he looks at the heart, not the outside of a person. After
dating a month, I asked him how he felt about short hair, thinking I could
cut some of the color off gradually. He seemed surprised that I needed
his opinion. "It's your hair! Whatever you are comfortable with is your
right." Well! Of course I knew that. He told me he didn't care if it was
short or long or even bald headed! Now there was a man before me really
challenging me. Could he really not care? Every man I had met, adored
long hair. I thought I looked better in long hair; it was easier to pin
up or back in hot weather too. Now it was getting colder outdoors. Did I
want a cold wind on my neck? I hate wearing hats and long have detested
clothes around my neck. But it would be easier to care for and besides,
what other time in my life would be such a good time to test my own
confidence?
Changing hair length and color seems mundane compared to other daily
problems. Bills are piling up, phone calls are ignored, pet illnesses to
take care of, and worse, transportation anywhere is difficult without a car.
I didn't seem in control of my life anymore. Hair I could control. So
one day, while shopping for groceries, I noticed the hair salon next door.
Taking a deep breath and feeling a bit angry at my own feelings of loyalty
to a man not here anymore, I walked into the saloon and said, "Cut it all
off!" And she did. I was determined for once, to put the past in the past.
It became shorter than my sister had cut it when visiting her this past
summer. Still, it had some curls and color ends. The silver was showing
about an inch at the roots. I liked the easy care, but hated the two tone
look.
A couple of weeks later, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I decided
it was short enough I couldn't do much harm---I reached for the scissors.
Within minutes, the floor was covered with brown hair---how could such a
short hairdo create so much hair? I stared in the mirror. Who was this
woman who now looked more male than feminine? Was she tough? I seemed to
look tougher---or was it just stronger feelings of control?
Ed laughed when he saw me and gave me a big hug. "We match!" he exclaimed
with a twinkle in his eyes. We did look more alike, him with his military
short cut. I smiled and thought maybe I would feel like a match in the
control department too. Lately, it had seemed I was leaning on him a bit
too much. Though he complimented me often on what he saw as my strength, I
had felt weak.
As the days went by, the mirror reminded me I was in a new stage of my life.
A renewal was starting. There were times in decision making, my tears and
thoughts of "I can't do this!" would begin again. Then I would look in the
mirror and say to myself, "This pain is not as bad as the first day, is it?
You can endure this, just do it!" and it worked. I cried, prayed and made
myself go through motions that I had before refused to do. Afterwards, the
activity, rewarded me with a feeling of accomplishment.
I knew the holidays would be difficult and Ed warned me it would hit hard,
having gone through it himself. Decorations in the past excited me. Now
they depressed me. We both loved holidays and I struggled with my inner
feelings and memories of last year's decorations. To the mirror again I
went.
I cried all the way over to the storage area where my Christmas decorations
had patiently waited. I sat down on a box, dismayed at the sudden drop in
energy, the intense feelings overwhelming me. I prayed, "God let me get
through this without falling apart. Let me give Ed a Christmas, one we both
can enjoy."
Looking around the big room, I spied a tree box of his. Opening it, I
found a white four foot tree. I had never had a white Christmas tree. Mine
was an artificial green pine or a real cut one in the past. I pulled it out
into the hall and begin to search other boxes he had stored with mine.
One box had some red satin ornaments shaped like drums with silver and gold
markings. My blocked mind opened a window and I remembered I had some red
cardinals that went on the tree. Excitement begin to seep in---a red and
white tree might look nice. Didn't I have a red table cloth to go over a
cube table to set the tree on? Where were the lights? Ugh! Green cords on
a white tree? Wait....I remembered buying on sale last year in anticipation
of decorating our windows this year, some window icicle lights. Yep, they
had white cords so my search for those uncovered other ornaments.
Soon I
had a mix of both of our decorations and a whole new look for Christmas.
Piling all the sorted boxes into his borrowed van, I stopped momentarily to
look back at the before dreaded storage area. Tears swarmed my view but I
smiled. Cutting my hair had produced a change in me. I was cutting the
strings to the past, I realized.
My deceased husband will always be in my heart, as Ed has reminded me many
times during the tears/hugs sessions. But cutting him out of my hair,
seemed the right thing to do.
by di: If you are a widow/widower, tell me if you changed your looks in any way
and how it affected you!
Send me email
© 2002 di
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